


When You Need Me Most

by Miss_L



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Knifeplay, M/M, Psychosis, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Wade have an unusual relationship. But it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icarusforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusforgotten/gifts).



> ... a Birthday fic for my baby boy <3

Peter seeks Wade out, the first time. It’s ridiculous how easy it is to find the scarred man in a vast crowd, as if there’s nobody else around for miles. One glimpse – Peter hasn't even opened his mouth yet – and if the look of happy recognition in those lovely baby blues is not the most precious thing he has ever seen, the young spider will eat his suit. With mustard (and he hates mustard). It takes him three months, and almost eating lead twice in the process (another non-favourite), before Wade believes that he doesn't just look _past_ or _through_ the scars, but _at_ them, and sees beauty. In the ever-shifting patterns of his skin. In the story that every single scar tells about Wade’s life, his past, his dreams and his fears. In the never-ending expanse of sky in his gorgeous eyes – so open and trusting when free of their white-and-black defences.

When Wade finally _believes_ and sees what Peter sees (at least through the young man’s eyes, if not his own), they fuck. It’s raw and desperate and never enough. But it’s also tender and caring. Never pushing the boundaries of each other’s bodies – or souls. They lay tangled together afterwards on the bed, spent and happy, Peter tracing the patters of the ridges and valleys of Wade’s skin, the other shivering under such unfamiliar attention. The boy notices something new about their being together then, but it takes him a while to figure out that what’s setting his nerves on edge with its novelty is the _silence._ He doesn't comment on it, content in the knowledge that Wade’s protective wall of incessant rambling is gone. He knows that the voices are quiet now, too, even if it’s just for a little while, and he is glad to have given the other man a rest from his inner demons.

They fall into a comfortable – if a little strange from the perspective of the odd bystander – rhythm afterwards. There are romantic dates, and heated fights, and rough make-up sex, and birthdays, and tender love-making, and comfortable silences. Fire and ice, water and air – they co-exist on the brink of chaos, but all limbs tugged safely within the boundaries of their own little universe. It’s snug, but never suffocating. Playful, without ever bordering on comical. They are the sun and moon in their own world, except they can actually be together in the sky at the same time without causing an eclipse. It's a careful balance, but they’re both expert jugglers on a tightrope, and when your whole world is at stake, you find yourself bold enough to fight for it. 

There are other times, too. Times of separation, seclusion, misunderstanding and hurt. Those are the moments they only care to remember never to repeat. Wade’s darkest dreams are replaced by Peter’s sullen silence, dim-eyed and final, and the boy will sell his soul and kill an old lady if he can prevent having to watch his lover cry again, rolled up on the bathroom floor, pain and misery draped over him like hot lava. They don’t desperately attempt keeping each other happy all the time, but they do try and find a compromise, meeting each other half-way after another bad episode. And no matter how long it takes, or how hard it is, they always succeed. Always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm a sap and can't make my baby boy wait that long xD *sigh*

Wade had seen that look. That side-glance, followed by an almost imperceptible gulp. Despite Spider-Man’s mask and the fact that they were in the middle of a heated – and dangerous – fight, Deadpool knew _exactly_ what Peter’s eyes had been glued to for a while longer than they would normally focus on anything right now. His knife. The only thing he was allowed to take on patrol with him nowadays – his katana made Spidey uneasy, and if he tried to sneak in a gun, the couch was his only friend for a week. So he took a hunting knife (or two) with him, although this was the first time he actually needed to use it. The merc-gone-vigilante looked down at the blade quizzically – nothing unusual about it, just steel and a leather grip. _Huh._ He must have imagined it, after all. Peter – _his_ Peter, at least – had no appreciation for weapons, or Wade’s ability to paint the bloody _(heh)_ Mona Lisa with them.

It must have stuck somewhere in the back of his scrambled brains, however, because Wade found himself watching Peter’s reactions more closely when he was cleaning his “babies” (something even Spider-Man couldn’t prevent from happening inside the house). Heavy artillery first – in the kitchen. Peter sighed exasperatedly, told Wade to “get his effing guns off the table, for heaven’s sake, Wade, we _eat_ here!” and accidentally pulled the cupboard off the wall in annoyance. Not it, then. Polishing his Magnums in the bedroom earned him two nights on the couch and no sex for the rest of the week, but he would be damned if he gave up now! Katana next – Peter commented that cleaning them while having a bath was probably not the best of ideas, and lit up with a rant about ionization of metals. Even though it all kind of went over Wade’s head, he still couldn’t help but be extremely aroused by his boyfriend’s squishy brains. Obligatory hot bath sex followed.

Still, Wade couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. All that was left, was his vast collection of hunting knives and machetes. The latter could be written off immediately – the last time Peter had come face-to-face with a machete, Wade was holding the boy’s guts together all the way to the hospital with both hands. He shuddered at the recollection and pulled a few small blades out haphazardly. Not even a hitch of Peter’s breath – other than in annoyed huffs. The second time, he exploded.

“Do you have to go through your entire collection of _toys,”_ – the derision behind that word still hurt – “when Aunt May is due to arrive every minute?” Peter looked positively murderous, and Wade hastened to push his equipment far under the couch.

He managed to keep himself in check for about a week, then the next batch of knives made an appearance. Peter didn't even dignify him with a glare this time and buried himself in his book, flinching occasionally at the loud screeching of the whetting stone. Finally, he threw Wade out of the apartment and threatened to kill his children’s children if he came back before midnight. The merc knew not to comment on the ridiculousness of the claim if he didn't want to grow a new tongue – not a pleasant affair, gentle reader, not at _all._ But did he give up hope? Yes, alright, he kinda did.

Which is why he was surprised to come out of the bathroom one day to find Peter standing near the bed. He was staring at the displayed collection of Fällkniven, seemingly transfixed.

“Shit, Pete, I'm sorry, I’ll clear them off…” Wade babbled, going for his pride and joys before his irate boyfriend could accidentally-on-purpose throw them out of the window.

But Peter stopped him with a soft hand on his arm, reaching for the knife Wade usually took on patrols with him. _Oh…_ As realisation dawned on the merc, Parker grabbed the leather handle with uncommon gentleness, admiring the soft shine and smooth texture of the implement. The way his elegant fingers were curled around the aluminium-and-leather grip did extremely hot things to Wade’s nether regions, but all he could do right now was stare at the beautiful daze on Peter’s face. Just like that, the moment was over. The web-head dropped the knife back on the bed, focused his eyes on Wade and told him coolly to put his toys away. The merc complied, a small smirk in the corner of his mouth as he noted that his lover’s usual disdain had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.fallkniven.com/images/stories/Fallkniven/files/catalog/no_print_eng_2009.pdf   
> Page 7. Because fucking gorgeous, that's why!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a sunny morning and the weather is beautiful and the birds are singing, so have some sex!!!
> 
> Big thanks to Gabri and Becca (http://yourcharactershavebeenshipped.tumblr.com/) for the references, because I literally had no idea what I was doing.
> 
> I'm also the luckiest girl in the world, but I'm totally not telling you why! :P

It had taken far less persuasion than getting Peter to wear that dress his legs looked absolutely delectable in – which kind of hurt Wade’s feelings a bit. Sure, he loved his knives, but he definitely loved Peter’s legs more. And frilly dresses. The combination of both was just killer. But, to stay on track, Wade had only had to nag and beg and fawn at the web-head for about a week before he agreed to this little… Experiment. 

And so it was that Peter was lying on the bed, naked and nervous, equal parts anticipation and tension in his eyes. He clutched the bedsheet needily to stop himself from asking – nay, at this point he was ready to _beg_ – but Wade knew. He always knew what his baby boy wanted and needed, he was just too much of a tease to give it to him right away. Not to mention that they still had to walk over the finer points. He adjusted some objects and looked at Peter with that soft expression that made the boy’s insides churn with tenderness.

“Safeword?”

“Wade,” the web-head huffed in frustration, “We've been over this. Thrice!”

The merc’s face grew stony and his eyes severe. Peter sighed and smiled weakly.

“Carrot.”

“Good.”

_(“Does it_ have _to be something phallic?” – “Yes.”)_

Peter waited for more. There usually was more with Wade.

“Okay. But… If there’s anything, _anything_ you don’t want-”

“I’ll tell you. Don’t worry,” the boy interrupted and put a trembling hand on his arm. 

The longing in his eyes was unmistakeable. Wade felt another gentle smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He put a calloused hand on Peter’s smooth stomach, watching the boy’s breath falter momentarily.

“Banana?” he asked.

Peter nodded and closed his eyes, getting himself in the mood. Not that _that_ was needed…

“Banana,” he whispered back softly and looked up at Wade.

Peter’s face was different now. His usual dorky innocence was still there – one cannot change their nature – but there was also a hard edge to his expression. Something… Feral. Almost dangerous. Wade may be the one “on top”, but he should never forget who was really in charge here. He loved bringing that part of Peter out. 

He bowed down and pressed a hot, wet kiss to his boy’s mouth. Delicate lips parted, giving him access to the moist heat and a pliant tongue. For a long moment, Wade entirely forgot the point of today’s exercise, plunging the depths of Peter’s willing mouth, performing the steps of a tango seamlessly with only their tongues, coiling and uncoiling around each other like snakes in an intricate mating dance. Roughly-skinned hands came to rest on protruding hips, massaging little circles into the skin in time with the kiss. Peter finally let go of the sheets, and put his hands around Wade’s neck, bringing the older man back to the present with a jolt. He grabbed the slender wrists gently and put them back on the bed, then flicked his lover’s nose and tutted.

“Bad Peter. That’s _not_ what we agreed!”

The look of remorse on the web-head’s face was almost convincing – _almost_ – but Wade knew better. He shook his head again, chasing away the remnants of the daze, and grabbed the small knife he had put on the nightstand, just within Peter’s line of sight. The boy’s eyes followed his movements greedily, moisture already covering his forehead and upper lip. He stayed utterly still otherwise, but his eyes burned with something very dark, and very addictive. The merc stopped himself from kissing them both silly again. Instead, he turned the still-sheathed weapon in his hands, giving Peter a good preview before he unclasped the strap of the delicate scabbard. Slowly, he pulled the blade out, noting the gasp coming from the young man. Wade kept his eyes on what he was doing, feeling Peter’s doe-browns burning holes in his hands.

He put the leather sheath aside and ran the sharp edge of the blade along his index finger. A single drop of blood welled up before his skin healed. Wade finally looked at Peter. There was worry and pain in the boy’s expression, _for him._ The merc smiled gently and brought his hand to Parker’s lips. Slowly, carefully, Peter wrapped his lips around the wounded digit, licking the blood away, holding Wade’s finger in his mouth until he was certain the cut no longer hurt, keeping eye-contact for any signs of discomfort. There was care and affection in this simple gesture that tore at the merc’s heartstrings like nothing else. He ran his thumb along Peter’s chin and they smiled at each other. The boy nodded in answer to the silent question and laid back again.

Wade put the blade back on the nightstand and reached for the slightly smaller knife that he had put at the foot end of the bed, worried he’d confuse them with his muddy head. It was the only one of the set he hadn’t sharpened in a long while, so that the cutting edge was almost as dull as the blunt side. Wade had still tried to make entirely sure the thing couldn’t hurt his Petey. Again, the web-head held his breath as the blade was taken out of its habitat, erection growing more prominent in anticipation of what was to come. In a few easy movements, Wade straddled the boy’s lithe hips and put the tip of the knife against Peter’s collar bone. He noted how his lover’s breath hitched and smirked. The merc traced a line down the heaving chest under him, never breaking skin, following the red stripe with his tongue.

It was delightful to see Peter falling apart under him with just a few simple ministrations. Small needy noises were making their way past his clenched teeth, hips jerking involuntarily – he knew he wasn't allowed. Wade moved back up to nip at the boy’s china white neck.

“We should have done this ages ago,” he growled near Peter’s ear, noting the manifold goosebumps that caused.

The merc focused on drawing patterns on his lover’s skin, alternating cold of steel and hot of tongue, teasing Peter’s nipples until they looked red and raw, observing which areas were most sensitive as Peter lost himself in pleasure. Wade wasn't sure who was enjoying himself more at this point, but he suddenly noticed tears in the corners of the boy’s tightly shut eyes. His knuckles were white with the force of his grip on the sheets and his cock turning an unhealthy shade of red, although he still kept himself in check. Wade put the knife on the nightstand and straightened his back, ass mere inches from Peter’s straining dick.

“Look at me,” the merc growled, voice harsh with emotion bubbling up in his chest.

Peter complied. His eyes were blazing with _need,_ and Wade found himself almost losing their ongoing power struggle. He shook it off and smiled.

“What do you want? _Say it,”_ he added when the other had stayed quiet for too long, shameblush making its way up his flawless cheeks.

“I want- I want you… Please…” Peter stammered, blush spreading, but eyes steady. 

With an animalistic howl, Wade latched himself to the boy’s neck, drawing a low and loud moan from the delicate creature writhing on the bed. Finally, he allowed his hand to wrap around that hard and leaking and _delectable_ cock, pulling all kinds of interesting new noises from its owner. Peter was babbling incoherently now, lots of “please”s, and curses, and shouts, and more curses. 

Wade finally pulled back, relishing the needy whine that had followed his retreat, and reached over for lube. Peter’s legs opened of their own accord, but the merc was too far gone now to reprimand the impatient youth. His slicked-up fingers found less resistance than usual, but he still made sure to stretch Peter properly. All too soon, the boy was pushing back against his digits, demanding more with his entire body. And who was Wade to resist such pretty begging? He picked up the dull knife again, pulling the holder back over the blade, but leaving the grip bare. Then he looked at Peter. A sliver of panic made its way into his liquid chocolate-brown eyes, but was soon replaced with lust. Still, the merc waited.

“Now,” Peter growled, voice even lower than Wade’s now.

“Your wish is my command,” the merc quipped, too breathy to sound properly sarcastic.

He coated the handle in lube (yes, he knew it was going to be messy, but it wasn’t like he was going to use the blade again for its intended purpose, and maybe he wanted to have a physical reminder of this night. In case he had dreamt it… [You’re disgusting.] - _{Well… At least he stopped sniffing girls’ underwear…}_ \- […More or less.] - _{Peter is not a_ girl!}) and – excruciatingly slowly – pushed the blunt tip inside Peter’s tight heat. The boy gasped and shuddered at the unfamiliar intrusion, but stilled as soon as the metal top adopted his body temperature. When the implement was finally in to the hilt _(teehee)_ , Wade started thrusting shallowly, watching open-mouthed and breathlessly how Peter’s thin yet strong hips matched the pace, meeting each thrust with just that bit more vigour. The young man’s eyes were closed tightly in bliss, breath shallow and ragged, noises leaving his mouth downright obscene. 

The merc was contemplating finishing Peter off like this – the boy certainly seemed to be enjoying himself – but brown eyes suddenly opened and locked with blue ones to emphasise his grunted “want _you”._ Before Wade was entirely aware of his movements, he had eased the knife out gently and clattered it against the wall, then taken off and flung his trousers and pants to the other side of the room, where they got caught on the curtain rails (incidentally: to be forgotten for about a week until laundry day). Peter giggled at his eagerness, but his expression sobered as he watched Wade slick himself up. Their eyes locked as the merc slowly entered, breaths faltering at the familiar – and oh so beloved – union. Until the day of his real and final death, Wade would count as his biggest accomplishment drawing _that_ sound out of Peter; the breathy moany half-shout that caught in the boy’s throat and shut even the voices in the merc’s head up.

The rest of their coupling was usually a bit of a blur after that. Wade was aware of Peter whispering the safeword and stopped moving immediately, but the web-head only draped his arms over the scarred back and spurred him on to continue. Groping, friction, half-forgotten moans and impossibly tender caresses followed, until both men lay panting and spent on top of each other, giggling as adrenalin-rushes subsided. Wade shifted off the frail body under him and reached under the bed for wet wipes, cleaning them both up, careful of Peter’s soreness. The boy kept running his hands over his lover’s neck and back until Wade put his head on the smooth chest. 

Peter stilled, not even breathing. The merc looked up at his face – it was calm and ashen white. Then the boy sighed and the marble skin flushed pink again. Wade smiled and snuggled up to his boyfriend, listening to his breathing slow down and deepen. He fell asleep to the even thrumming of Peter’s heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I cannot resist making my bby happy - also, approval xD

This was one of the rare times when Wade stood his ground stubbornly. Peter’s sighs and sad eyes had their effect, of course, but…

“Peter,” the merc repeated sharply, “When an old friend calls in a favour, Deadpool obliges. And I really owe him more than just some job.”

The web-head had flinched at the use of his “professional” name, but his expression stayed mild.

“What about Wade?” he asked quietly.

“Wade will be fine,” his boyfriend answered, heart clenching.

“Not what I meant, and you know it.”

He does. Peter is worried about his progress as a “good man”, about all the lives he saves instead of ending others. 

Wade is out of arguments at this point, so he just stares the younger man down and repeats, “I _have_ to go.”

Peter’s shoulders slump and he turns towards the kitchen counter. He doesn't look up until the door slams.

\---

Three days and two deaths later, Deadpool clambers through the bedroom window, drops his weapons on the floor, shoots out of his bloody and tattered suit and lies down behind his boyfriend on the bed, careful not to elbow or knee him in the dark. He throws his arms around the slender body and nuzzles the boy’s temple.

“I'm sorry, Petey,” he whispers, words tumbling over each other in their haste to be uttered. “I'm so, _so_ sorry. I didn't kill anyone, I swear, honey, I swear. I'm sorry.”

He keeps repeating the apology like a mantra, but Peter gives no sign of life. Moisture wells up in Wade’s eyes, but before it has a chance to spill, the boy finally stirs. Thin, elegant fingers interlace with scarred ones and he sighs quietly, almost contentedly, against his pillow.

“I know, precious baby,” he answers softly. “I know.”

Wade lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and his heart warms up with Peter’s forgiveness. He will never do this again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, baby, I couldn't wait any longer! Let's just... Ummm... Pretend birthday came two weeks early, kay?  
> Kay *throws at*runs away*

“What’s going on?”

Peter’s voice is cautious – he’s used to some strange things from Wade, but his doubts are soon dispelled. The merc turns around with a huge grin and holds the pastry bag up for the young man to see. Peter walks over to the counter, worry replaced with curiosity, and peeks over Wade’s shoulder.

“It’s your birthday, baby boy,” the taller man clarifies when he sees the surprise on his boyfriend’s face. “Fourth of April, remember?”

The young man looks up at him with a sad smile, a little off-centre, but makes no answer. Wade shrugs and continues squeezing little flowers along the edge. Personally, he thinks the cake is lovely – he’s spent hours getting the Spider-Man logo right. And he even managed to keep the kitchen relatively clean! Peter sits down at the table and stares into the middle distance until Wade puts the cake in the fridge and takes off his apron and chef’s hat (which he only wears on special occasions). He is wearing a “Happy Birthday” sweater under it, but the youth fails to comment on that. The festive merc sits down opposite of Peter and takes his hand.

“Baby boy?” Sad brown eyes focus on his face and a little pained look distorts the delicate features. Wade starts to panic. “Peter, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please!” His voice is turning shrill and if someone hurt his lover, he’s going to-

The boy just squeezes his hand and sighs. “You must remember,” he says quietly.

“Remember what?” As is always the case, Wade can’t for the life of him remember what it is he’s supposed to remember. He still tries, though – if Peter says it’s important, then so it is.

“Remember me,” Peter replies and looks at their intertwined hands on the table.

“Why?” Wade doesn't understand what he’s talking about.

[Is Peter going away?]  
 _{Is he leaving us? On his birthday? Really?}_

“Where are you going?” His voice is really too high now, but he doesn't care.

Peter looks up again and shakes his head. “I'm not going anywhere, Wade. I'm here with you.”

He looks like he wants to add something else, but is stopped by the relieved look on his boyfriend’s face and smiles. It’s somewhat less sad now. Wade jumps up.

“Aunt May! When is she coming? Do I still have time to get her favourite tea?” 

He’s talking more to himself than to Peter at this point, running into their bedroom to get a hoodie and put his boots on.

“I’ll be right back,” he purrs, pecks his boyfriend’s cool cheek and runs out of the house.

He’s not sure how he ended up at the cemetery. All of a sudden, he’s standing between neat rows of headstones and well-kept graves. _Why am I here?_ He reads the plaque in front of him. Then he reads it again, because really, it can’t be saying what he thinks it’s saying… But-

_Peter Benjamin Parker_  
 _August 20, 1983 – April 4, 2013_  
 _Dearest nephew, loving partner, esteemed friend  
_ _The City of New York  
_ _is forever in your debt_

Wade’s knees connect with the hard soil as memories crash over him like a tidal wave. He’s sick in his stomach and all he wants to do is stop the images flowing, but he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, plugs his ears with his fingers, but they keep coming. Avengers mission gone horribly wrong. Aunt May crying silently. Peter’s team-mates in black suits with sombre expressions. But above all – Peter’s lifeless body in the coffin, face cold and ashen white. Wade was out of the country when _it_ happened, he had only just made it in time for the burial. He had kept it together until the end of the ceremony. Collapsed after, when he was home. He doesn't remember much of what happened next. But he had forgotten. How could he forget Peter? How could he have forgotten what had happened to his baby boy? Wade curls up and weeps bitterly on his lover’s grave.

When evening falls, he makes his way home. The apartment is filthy and gloomy, take-out boxes and liquor bottles litter the floor and a rancid smell emanates from the kitchen. Wade throws pizza-boxes off the couch and flops down. He uncaps a bottle of tequila he had bought at the 7/11 and relishes the burn in his throat as he gulps the booze down. A second bottle follows. 

\---

Wade wakes up slowly, just a faint hint of a headache behind his eyeballs. Soft hands are stroking his face and back. He doesn't open his eyes, but smiles. He can feel bright sunshine through his closed eyelids, and the strong smell of coffee permeates their apartment.

“Good morning, baby boy.”

“Good morning, Wade,” Peter answers softly, careful of Wade’s hang-over.

The merc turns to his side and pulls the boy closer to him. Peter must sense his vague worry, because he nuzzles a scarred cheek and whispers, “I’m here with you.”

Relieved, Wade falls asleep again.


End file.
